


But afar is not where I can stay.

by lil_slug



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Chatlogs, Future Fic, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Pedophilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:45:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_slug/pseuds/lil_slug
Summary: Who would have thought that an Angel would be Jonathan Byers' downfall?This is the first time I'm issuing a trigger warning, because this isn't my usual fucked up incest rape smut, so I'm guessing this might attract a more normal audience: This story contains pedophilia, though the explicit sexual content is really toned down. But you've been warned.





	1. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know!  
> 'Hurr, durr, you're starting another multi-chapter fic that you're never going to complete?'  
> No, because I'm going to complete every single work I have ever started. Also, this one will be a bit unique anyways. I've had this oneshot draft on my hard drive for a few weeks and I've decided to make something entirely different out of it. It's really experimental, so bear with me.

_The first Noel, the Angels did say_  
_Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay_  
_In fields where they lay keeping their sheep_  
_On a cold winter‘s night that was so deep_  
_Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel_  
_Born is the King of Israel_

The harsh wind carries the music across the river from somewhere in the distance. Filtered through nothing, not even the constant murmurings of the city that are swallowed by the snow, it‘s both calming and haunting. Jonathan likes that song, although now it‘s making less and less sense. Perhaps they didn‘t tell us everything. Whoever ‚they‘ were. Because if those shepherds really saw an Angel‘s face, surely they must have been blinded by the sheer glory and beauty of it. Their minds must have been melted, reduced to everlasting longing.

That‘s what happened to Jonathan when he laid eyes upon the acme of beauty. And he swears, he _swears_ , the label on the bottle said _‚Villadoria‘_ when he bought it. The taste is still heavily coating his weary tongue. Did it really say _‚Villadoria‘_? Or was it _‚The bottle that killed Jonathan Byers‘_? That sounds more likely.

Jonathan weeps. He shivers. There was no time to put on his parka. Just another item the police will likely seize in the morning. They will never find the CDs, though, that much is sure. The wind, that is still singing sweetly, crawls under his shirt and blazer. Beneath him the river is plashing.

He thinks about Luna; Will they take her, too? No, they won‘t. To what end? It‘s not like she could testify in a court. Aaron will take good care of her, no matter what will be revealed to him in the wake of this Christmas night. He‘s just not the kind of person who would let a poor dog starve. Jonathan finds some comfort in that. His tears turn to ice before they even get a chance to fall from his face.

His eyes wander from the black water up to his surroundings. He has taken a few photos of Longfellow Bridge in the past. Not usually into architecture, Jonathan can‘t deny there is a certain attraction to this object. But him being here tonight, well, that is just a coincidence. It really could be any other bridge. It could be a train station.

Nonchalantly dropping his glasses into the river, he sighs his heavy sobs away. He never really needed these thick-framed spectacles. More of a fashion statement, something that‘s required for a so-called celebrity, someone known to a few hundred people in Boston‘s quaint underground art scene. They disappear in the night, just like Jonathan is about to. There is no splash, not even the faintest sound of impact.

Who is going to tell his mom? The police, also known as Hopper? The papers? Will the news even reach Hawkins that way? Or will _she_ do it?

Regardless, soon there will only be a handful of people left in this world who won‘t despise him. No, he‘s not going to jail. It‘s easier to just let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so from now on you're gonna have to piece everything together. I can tell you, we're all in for a weird ride.


	2. 05/16/2003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving you another chapter right now so you get a better idea where this is headed.

xEnox: yup I‘m back. sry for the absence. garth got his ass busted so I had 2 lie low

Z33N: phew! :) so damn worried dude. pig feds. never gonna understand we‘re not hurtin any1

HurtCore: speak for urself lol

TrEnT: Same. Missed you, dude. No pressure but...

xEnox: yeah right no pressure. *sigh* ok not gonna torture u. here ya go. new set I got last week. HawaiiVacation01.jpg looking good?

TrEnT: ...owow!!!...

hunter55: shit! delicious! missed ur stuff!

Kane: m o a r. M O A R!

xEnox: HawaiiVacation02.jpg HawaiiVacation03.jpg HawaiiVacation04.jpg

Z33N: jesus look @ that cute thing. that butt

66orchid: I‘m gonna die. like literally. holy shit the things I‘d give to taste that.

xEnox: how about 20 yrs of your life in fed prison? xD. HawaiiVacation05.jpg HawaiiVacation06.jpg HawaiiVacation07.jpg HawaiiVacation08.jpg

Kane: not funny with garth and all that. but fuck I‘m diamonds

hunter55: so tight! I‘d fuck that all day long. love it when theyre just growing bit of hair

66orchid: AMEN

Ziggy47: Disgusting.

Z33N: oh boy here we go again

TrEnT: ziggy stop pls

Kane: aw damn he‘s back. guys who let him in again?

xEnox: HawaiiVacation09.jpg HawaiiVacation10.jpg lol who‘s that?

Ziggy47: Just stop. Stop it okay? Just because you don‘t know the difference between fucking and making love doesn‘t mean you got the right to hurt a boy.

xEnox: oh

hunter55: yeah. 3 weeks of this and I‘m getting sick

hunter55: srsly ziggy fuck off

Z33N: lol I could ram my cock in the 9yr old neighbor now and theres nothing u can do about it

Ziggy47: You‘re all sick. Look at him. You should want to protect him.

xEnox: dude ur just a different kind of perv. I mean ur here right?

TrEnT: yup. usually get rid of him that way. bet hes pumping his dick right now like but acting like we‘re the sick fucks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Care to leave a comment? Like, I survive on these.


	3. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nice writing these drabble-like chapters. Nice change, if you ask me.

The cane is about the most annoying thing Jonathan Byers ever had to put up with, and as it looks now, he‘s going to have to for the rest of his life. The leash helps with getting both hands on his camera, allowing the cursed walking-aid to dangle from his wrist. But kneeling down for a change of perspective? Hardly possible without creating a death-trap for pedestrians.

Sometimes Jonathan thinks all the praise and respect might be more due to his injury than anything else. Like it‘s the circumstances that give his work its meaning. Over and over again, though, he comes to the conclusion that this thought is bullshit; He isn‘t the same man he used to be just a year ago, the idealist who put unfiltered information above all else, even his own safety. His 2003 work is purposefully detached from anything he did before. He is an artist. Trying to be one. Successfully, as it seems.

And at least now he‘s got a gripping story to tell when asked why a well-dressed man in his mid-thirties, packed with camera equipment, is limping up and down the streets of Boston. The whole thing really is easy to bear. It‘s not like Jonathan is in pain, so maybe he should be glad. The cane just adds to his image that way. Dali had his mustache. Warhol had his hair. Recognizable features that go beyond art alone. Not that he would ever dare compare himself to these iconic masters.

No, he can‘t do that. The fact that his inspiration is lacking today is just more proof that he shouldn‘t have the audacity. The streets are abuzz, every moment a painting waiting to be captured. The people, the cars, they all whisper their secrets to him, loud and clear and with unprecedented insistence. But Jonathan is frustratingly deaf today, to a point where he can‘t even bear to look anymore.

Well, not every day has to be one of perfect productivity. Having decided to unwind tonight, he finds himself facing Verne again. The second time this month. It might be a few days early. „Boston Globe.“ he says.

„Right, Mister B.“ From behind the counter, Verne smirks at him. He peeks to his left and right to check for curious eyes and ears. „Boston Globe, Special Edition.“

„Yes, please.“ Jonathan utters, throat dry. This is dangerous. Always has been, always will be. „If it‘s new.“

„Came in yesterday.“ Verne hands him the paper, that‘s significantly thicker than the usual Boston Globe, from underneath the dirty counter. The headline proclaims _‚Remains are identified as missing lifeguard‘s.‘_ Shame. Only sixteen years old. „That‘ll be fifteen bucks.“

Jonathan doesn‘t complain about the increased price. Money isn‘t a concern. Getting the secret home and out of his high quality leather messenger bag, where it‘s just too easy to discover, that‘s what he should be worried about.

These are the days when Jonathan Byers devolves back into the creep he tried so desperately to leave in Hawkins, Indiana. Head bowed, he walks, limps, as fast as he can. The ever-changing painting of South End is easily ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all gonna make sense in the end. All will be explained.


	4. And there you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is basically a condensed version of my original draft. I'm building everything around this, and I'm telling you, it basically writes itself.

Jonathan would never let anything happen to them. That‘s why he is here. Why he frequently visits this place, and why he will continue to do so even as the seasons change. Right now it‘s September, a warm one with a low-hanging sun that appears to feel obliged to give off as much heat as it can before the cruel winter will force it once again into hibernation.

There is still some green left in the world. Some life. Jonathan loves life. Not necessarily his own life, but the fact that living things exist and breathe and create things. Feelings.

Luna is the perfect excuse to stay at the park for hours on end; Being asked questions like ‚Oh, she‘s an old lady, isn‘t she?‘ is fairly common, but the fact of the matter is, that dog is three years old and nothing but lazy. She doesn‘t play, she rarely ever barks. All she really does is sit or lie by Jonathan‘s feet, bathing in orange sunlight, while he watches.

Watches the playground from his bench on the soft hilltop. No, he would never let anything happen to these precious creatures down there. There are just too many creeps and perverts lurking around here. Snapping photos from the thicket. It‘s not an artist‘s way, it‘s disgusting.

He gives them names when he sees them more than once. Jeremy, the golden-locked runner with his black Converse. No one ever catches him at tag, that‘s how fast he is. Jonathan has never seen him in shorts. He can only imagine how nicely toned but also soft and smooth his legs must be.

There‘s Peter, a true leader. Jonathan never got close enough to actually hear what any of them were saying, but it‘s clear the kids listen to him. They look up to him, and still he‘s all smiles and gentle nods in his cute hoodie and slightly too wide jeans.

Chip. Jonathan calls him that because there seems to be no greater joy in his life than chocolate chip cookies. He brings them for the other kids, but keeps most to himself.

Some girls are there, too. Jonathan doesn‘t like them. He doesn‘t look at them, doesn‘t give them names. They‘re not like boys; Girls are treacherous beings from the beginning. They snicker and giggle and make fun of absent ‚friends‘.

But boys... Boys are pure. They love soft things more than they‘d ever like to admit, they need more love and protection than their parents will ever understand. If they did, they‘d never let these precious little creatures come here all on their own. It‘s a big city, a dangerous place with all these predators around. So Jonathan watches. He protects. He spends his weekends like that.

Today is special, though, because in the late afternoon, when the sun has already decided to bid the world a burning red farewell, Jonathan lays eyes upon an Angel. And nothing, _nothing in this world_ , will ever be beautiful again. No sunset, no calm, blue ocean could be of interest anymore. They can never be as perfect as this child.

Exit gravity. The boy, he hasn‘t noticed him before for whatever reason, is just hanging there. Literally hanging upside-down from the monkey bar, slim corduroy-clad legs crossed for stability. His hair is neat, of dark chestnut, shaken by the soft breeze. He is alone, thoughtful and sincere in the way he stoically stares at... well, nothing. Is that why Jonathan didn‘t see him until now? Was he too consumed by all the playing, shouting children to notice this treasure?

The boy begins to swing, still upside-down, with his arms crossed in front of his narrow chest. His light blue button-down rides up his belly like that, and _oh God_ ; he‘s an outie. A little white nub in the middle of a stretched plane of more white. _So pale_. Pale as an ancient Greek statue, carved from the finest marble, and as beautiful as one.

Jonathan‘s brain is swimming in a sea of longing and sorrow. He will never have this beauty. He will never hear the Angel‘s voice, or get to keep him warm and safe in the sleepy hours before sunrise, like this boy deserves. This boy with the enticing familiar features. Oddly familiar, in fact. A face from the past, mixed with a stranger‘s influence.

Luna perks up before Jonathan even notices footsteps. "Good girl..." he mutters absently, stroking the soft fur behind her flopping ears. The footsteps approach, but still his eyes remain glued on the Angel that has descended from Heaven just to taunt him, as it appears. Until the voice washes over his brain and his entire body like boiling cold water. „Small world, huh?“

And there she is, in all her beauty, after thirteen years. Time stands still until Jonathan has composed himself enough to whisper „Nancy?“

A small smile creeps across his face when the realization comes; The Angel really has his mother‘s eyes.


	5. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took about 12 hours longer than it should have, but UGH, I NEEDED SLEEP!

Home! Home! Jonathan needs home! His pants, so restricting, need to come off. Every other second, he checks for the Special Edition paper in his bag. Once or twice (or ten times?), he collides with oncoming traffic, earning him shouts of „Watch where you‘re going!“, or „What, your eyes crippled too?“. Yeah, that last one hurt.

Home! Not yet, though. Jonathan takes the elevator up to Aaron‘s place. If only he could still take the stairs without having to heave himself up by railing and his cane. His friend is waiting by the open door when he arrives, brows furrowed. „Hey, didn‘t expect you before five.“ he greets as Luna waddles past him into the hall, wagging her tail for Jonathan.

„Not a good day.“ he utters. „Can‘t seem to make it work today.“

„More often than not.“ Aaron notes. „But you can afford it, right?“

Jonathan doesn‘t like the teasing tone that‘s swinging in his voice. He also knows Aaron doesn‘t mean any harm whatsoever. They‘ve known each other for the better part of a year, longer than Jonathan has ever kept a friendship going in the past eighteen years, since he left Hawkins. If there‘s anyone he trusts in this city, it‘s Aaron. A little poking and prodding won‘t affect that. „I mean, money‘s not an issue.“ Jonathan smiles meekly. „That‘s the best part of being friends with you, though.“

„What do you mean?“

„You‘re not after my shit.“ They both share a short laugh, but Jonathan just doesn‘t _feel_ it. It gets like this maybe twice a month, and when it happens, it _hits_. He really has to get home now, get it over with so he can work again. His current state is just unworthy of a creator, someone labeled a ‚hero‘ once. His entire life is unworthy, to be honest. Maybe it should have ended in the midst of hellfire and debris, with Jonathan doing something good.

„Hey. Hey, Byers. Zoning out on me?“

„W-what?“ Jonathan only now realizes he has been staring at a point somewhere behind Aaron‘s shoulder, a hardly noticeable stain on the half-lowered blind. „No- no. Listen, I-“

„You wanna come in? Seriously, Jon, you look like you need a drink.“

  
And Aaron has probably no idea how god damn right he is with that. Jonathan is going to have his drink, too, just not here, not now, not with anyone else around other than his dog. This beautiful soul by his feet, the one person in Boston who would never judge him.

„I‘m fine.“ Jonathan shrugs, feigning a light-hearted smile to break the tension. „Inspiration is a bitch, right?“

„Right...“ Aaron says, oozing skepticism. „Alright, do what you have to do, weirdo. I guess tomorrow you‘re gonna be normal again and we‘re gonna forget about this shit for a few weeks.“

Jonathan blinks, wordlessly.

„Don‘t look at me like that, you know better than anyone else how much of a weirdo you are.“ Aaron hands over the leash, and bowing down to attach carabiner to Luna's collar, Jonathan heaves a sigh.

„Thanks for taking care of her.“

„Any time.“

As Jonathan turns to walk off, though, Aaron holds him with a hand clasped firmly around his shoulder. „Call me tonight, okay? Just wanna know if you‘re better by then.“

„Jeez...“ Jonathan huffs indignantly. „Between your job and looking after your friends like mother hen, do you even have time for anything else?“ Upon noticing Aaron‘s sincere frown, he gives in, just to get out of here. „Eight?“

Aaron nods, letting go.

Home! Finally, Jonathan can be on his way to safety. To cleanse himself. Luna mindlessly walks towards the stairs. only to be gently pulled back by her leash. That‘s just another thing they share, their hate for elevators. He has to pick her up to get her inside, to calm her. He wishes someone could pick him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This must be very confusing. It's not always going to be.


	6. 05/28/2003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another chatlog. I guess these won't do a lot for the story but in terms of getting into Jonathan's character it's pretty insightful.

citizen1: got this super delicious set from a friend last week. 2 videos included. thought i‘d post it here wallpaper-pack.rar

citizen1: pass is 2003boyloverulz btw

Z33N: downloading righ now holy crap its huge

citizen1: about 400 pics best wallpapers u can get ;)

Z33N: might actually use them as wallpapers :P

FBI: This is really interesting, citizen1. Do you have any more of this great content?

citizen1: wtf

hunter55: loool

diablo: xD gold

Z33N: bet that ziggy guy sent u fuckers. tell him to fuck off

TrEnT: don‘t mention him pls. here take this fbi Campfire-12.jpg Campfire-13.jpg

Ziggy47: Never sent anyone here. I just can‘t stand all this hurtcore shit.

diablo: NOT. AGAIN.

Kane: leave us alone. just leave. leave leave leave

Ziggy47: You can‘t seriously want to hurt these boys. I mean look at them. Please just post more showing off stuff. Pics with happy boys and all that.

TrEnT: admit u beat ur meat to them. it gets you off right?

Kane: no need 2 admit anything lol. ziggy‘s rock hard b4 even starting up the pc

Ziggy47: How about this? mteverest13.jpg Look at him and tell me he‘s not a piece of art you have to protect.

TrEnT: damn cute one

diablo: hngggg

Z33N: love him. moar pls

Ziggy47: Don‘t have a lot. Point is, look how happy he is. I just want my boys to feel good. Do you guys not understand love?

Kane: srsly I love women. just get off to boys is all

Ziggy47: Boys deserve better.

TrEnT: it‘s just pics relax!!!

diablo: can only speak for myself watching vids and pics is all I ever do

Ziggy47: That doesn‘t make it better. Someone took these photos and videos. Someone hurt these boys.

citizen1: shit how did we get here? duude just download the rar i swear its super cute

Z33N: confirmed no hurtcore in sight. best set ive seen in a while. xEnox got nothing on it lol

citizen1: thanks fam :)

Ziggy47: I‘m gonna delete if it‘s fucked up again.

citizen1: what a threat I‘m shivering

citizen1: FBI still reading along?

FBI: In fact, we are. Uh, I mean, I am. Is there any information you wish to disclose?

TrEnT: yeah, ziggy is a boylover in denial. thinks he can just will it away or something but sooner or later hes gonna sprinkle his stardust on a 9yo butt

diablo: lol

citizen1: truth spoken


	7. Gabriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, writing this is fun. Hope I can get more out tomorrow, but I'm about to head out for work and after that it's gonna be BEDTIME. Damn night shift.

„What are the odds?“ In utter disbelief, Jonathan shakes his head. It‘s the first words spoken between them in a while.

Nancy‘s sympathetic smile, one that‘s hiding some kind of hardly graspable mystery, does exactly nothing to get him over the shock. Even after ten minutes of her sitting next to him on the bench just above the playground where her son is has been dangling from the monkey bar, climbing up and down the jungle gym in his lonesome way, he can‘t get over the fact that _Nancy Wheeler is here_.

„It‘s the job.“ she says. „The bank wanted me in Boston, so I went to Boston. God, it‘s been so long.“ Her touch causes Jonathan‘s shoulder to twitch, but he steadies himself as not to seem appalled by Nancy‘s presence. He isn‘t. Just shook, that‘s all.

She obviously notices his gaze wandering off to her son over and over again. Does she even understand what the sight does to Jonathan? Beauty in its purest form, that‘s what the boy is. Nancy doesn‘t seem to understand. „Not what you expected?“

„Who...“ Jonathan croaks, clearing his throat. „The father?“

„Coworker.“ she answers curtly. „Didn‘t last six months, but, well he left me with a little something. Hey, do you want to meet him?“

„Uh... your coworker?“

Nancy almost topples over laughing, then. „You really didn‘t expect to see me, huh?“ She proceeds to call over to the playground. „Gabe! Gabe, will you come over here for a second, sweetie?“

„Gabriel?“ Jonathan presses out, and Nancy nods. _The only name fitting for an Angel walking among humans._ Jonathan thinks his knees would give in if he wasn‘t sitting when the boy hesitantly approaches, shyness clearly showing in the way he walks with his head bowed.

„Gabe, this is Jonathan Byers. We grew up together.“ When Nancy introduces them with a few short words, and Gabe reaches to shake Jonathan‘s hand, he really has to fight to keep it together. How would it look if a grown man barreling towards forty just fainted from shaking a nine year old‘s soft, small hand?

„Hi.“ the boy says, or rather squeaks. Even his voice sounds like it could come straight out of heaven. „I‘ve seen you on TV.“

Now, Jonathan is honestly baffled. That was two years ago, almost to the day. An adult could remember that, in fact a great many do, but a child of Gabriel‘s age? „Y-you have?“ he stammers.

„Yeah.“ Gabe answers, gaze still lowered. „September 18th, 2001, 6:30PM, on WNBC.“

Upon Jonathan‘s confused frown -he himself doesn‘t remember the exact date and time of the broadcast-, Nancy fondly snakes her arm around her son. „He‘s something else, isn‘t he?“

„Mom...“ Gabe groans when she goes on to press a kiss on his cheek.

„Don‘t you wanna go play again?“

The boy looks somewhat relieved at his mother‘s words. Jonathan desperately wants to shout after him _‚Don‘t go!‘_ , so it‘s getting harder to keep it together by the second. How is he ever supposed to get over this nicely rounded face, this piece of art, and the distress it showed? He could have made it better, if he only could have held this beautiful creature and told him it‘s okay to be shy and scared and _different_. Because Gabe is different in more than one way, that much is clear.

„It‘s not always easy.“ Nancy sighs, seeing her boy off. „You know, he remembers everything. I mean, literally everything. You could ask him what we had for dinner six weeks and five days after his third birthday and he‘d know.“

Jonathan loosens the grip he had on his own knee without even noticing. „Really...“ he utters, hardly listening to her. By now Gabe is back at the monkey bar, all alone and gravely staring into the distance. „I mean, yeah, must be hard. Kids can be cruel. B-but you have each other, right?“

„Yeah.“ Nancy nods, a grateful smile pulling on her lips. „And what about you? Any more people in your life besides...?“ She points at Luna.

Luna, who is sleeping by Jonathan‘s feet, completely oblivious to what just happened. As far as he knows, the lazy little ball of fur didn‘t bat an eye at Gabriel‘s presence, only really having acknowledged Nancy before going back to sleep in the warm, dry grass.

„You know what I'm like.“

„Yeah. I do.“ Nancy bites her lip, contemplating visibly. „How have you been since, y‘know?“ She eyes the cane by Jonathan‘s side as if the sight of it causes her physical pain.

„I‘m not in pain. Damn leg just gives in from time to time.“

Nancy‘s hand carefully finds his shoulder again, circling. It‘s warm. Reassuring like very few things were for him in the last years. „I wanted to get in touch back then. Really. I just thought, after ten years-“

„It‘s not your fault.“ Jonathan quickly throws in. „Really. These things just happen. Just don‘t apologize. I mean, I could have tried too.“

„I‘m still sorry, Jon.“

„Okay, then I‘m sorry too. Better?“

„No.“ Nancy certainly looks better, the way she‘s smiling at him fondly. From her purse she grabs a pen and paper. „My number.“ she says, scribbling. „Let‘s have dinner, okay? Just so this never happens again.“


	8. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying this non-chronological thing I'm pulling off here.

Home! This took just too long, _too long_. Jonathan let Luna off the leash as soon as they emerged from the elevator, and now finds himself with the door shut behind him, slowly sliding down to the floor with his back flush against the heavy wood. Trembling. He should have known it in the morning, he shouldn‘t have gone outside. The build-up to this has been subtle, but _god dammit!_ Jonathan has dealt with this shit for years, and yet he keeps making the same mistakes over and over.

It‘s a disgusting thing, the one he keeps hidden away in the folds of the highly respectable Boston Globe, stuffed in his messenger bag. A disgusting, vital thing, without which he wouldn‘t survive. Luna watches curiously as he all but crawls towards his bedroom. The high ceiling of the loft is giving Jonathan at least _some_ air. Another reason why he chose this place, aside from just being able to afford it. He likes brick walls. Combining this dingy glory with modern furniture and art.

Jonathan leaves his shirt and pants on the way to the bed, arriving there only clad in shorts. The sheets are fresh, only changed this morning. Clean, cooling against his skin. The bag is discarded, the Boston Globe too. Only what has been hidden inside remains in Jonathan‘s damp hands. It‘s so beautiful.

The cover photograph...

Jonathan flips through the glossy pages, enchanted. These shorts need to go. All he can see is pure, unblemished skin, smooth and hairless. All he can feel is his own way too rough hand on himself. His boys are happy. They‘re all smiling, some directly at the camera.

Perfect... So perfect...

There is nothing but softness depicted in these pages. Boys as happy as they deserve to be. Jonathan‘s vision blurs, his shifting through the pages turns as frantic as the movement of his right hand under the covers. It‘s all so delicious; Their innocently flushed cheeks, shy smiles, arched backs in front of quality photo wallpapers, or even on location.

And most importantly, no men in sight. Men, greasy, hairy and sweaty and _dirty_ , men who could ruin the beauty and cause harm where only giggles and cuddles should exist.

Jonathan‘s climax rips through him in waves, one at a time until the magazine falls shut on stained sheets. The moment of breathing, eyes closed, passes so fast, chased away by his first violent sob. The cover boy smiles up at Jonathan in all his beauty and innocence.

He gags, almost falls to the hard wooden floor when he reaches for the bottled water under his bed and chugs it down until his stomach feels close to bursting. He falls back into the sheets then, cries of disgust and agony muffled by the pillow he is hugging close. Jonathan can‘t look at the boy any longer. His smile is feigned, dishonest and fearful now. _Defiled._

The bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label in his bedside drawer is half-empty. More than a hundred bucks for this. Because he can afford it. Jonathan can afford drinking premium fire as if it was water straight from the bottle until his tortured senses take pity on his mind and leave for the rest of the day.

The burn of it fills him up head to toe. Warm wetness of a rough tongue on his face. The unmistakable whimpering of a dog. Jonathan pulls his only real friend close, weeping. „You‘re never gonna leave me... never leave, okay? Never leave... please... please...“ He goes on uttering soft pleads into Luna‘s brown, tear-stained fur until the alcohol and sleep overtake him in all their mercy.


End file.
